


He Regretted It

by Pink_Haired_Queer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:34:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Haired_Queer/pseuds/Pink_Haired_Queer





	1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy scowled into the mirror. His reflection scowled back. Then his expression changed completely, to an enchanting smile. Straight white teeth, dusky pink lips, one dimple. This was how he, as Pansy put it, "got the ladies". 

Speak of the devil, Pansy Parkinson rapped on the bathroom door. "Draco, I know you're in there, you'd better hurry up or you'll miss the arrival of the other schools!"

"Calm down, Pansy, I'm coming!" He said, annoyed. 

As if it mattered, he thought, flicking a strand of hair out of his eye and opening the door. He didn't care about Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang. Most students were excited because they thought they might have a chance to make out with a student from abroad, Pansy included, but the only one Draco wanted was here. The one he loved was at Hogwarts. 

And a complete imbecile. 

He sighed, and went outside.

The other schools arrived, both magnificent and showy, and they went to sit down at the tables in the great hall. Victor Krum, the quidditch player, sat across from him. 

What made his day, though, was Weasley's face. He was practically as green as the Slytherin emblem with jealousy. 

Harry Potter sat next to Weasley, quietly eating, only looking over at the Hufflepuff table. Why the Hufflepuffs? Draco thought. The only slightly interesting person was Diggory. Was Potter still angry because of the quidditch match last year where Diggory caught the snitch because Harry fell off his broom? Or was it...

No. It couldn't be. 

Draco shook his head and turned to Krum, who was talking to him about something or other, he hadn't been paying attention.  
When he looked back at Harry he was talking to Granger, the mudblood. No, muggleborn, he reminded himself. He couldn't go around thinking like that if he wanted to get what he wanted. 

 

When Harry was picked at Champion for the Tri-Wizard tournament Draco's initial feeling was NO. Just plain old NO.

Harry would die, he knew. Harry was fourteen, all the other champions were seventeen and eighteen. They were all more qualified, older. Diggory was the first Hogwarts champion, and even though he should probably resent Harry for it, it didn't seem at all like he did.

Strange, he thought. If someone had stolen his spotlight he would have hexed him. Except maybe not Potter.

 

The first task went surprisingly well. Draco had to conceal his joy as Harry stole the egg from the dragon. The other Slytherins would become suspicious if Draco suddenly supported a Gryffendor. Not that Draco actually cared what they thought, but his father would hear about it.

Potter wasn't paying any attention to him, though. He guessed it was a lot of his fault, he hadn't exactly been very friendly the last few years, but he wished Harry would just understand. He didn't want to be horrible. It was just the only way he could get his attention.


	2. Chapter 2

The Yule Ball. 

Draco wasn't looking forward to it.

Pansy wanted to go with him, he knew, and he couldn't get himself to reject her (Pansy didn't know the meaning of the word "no", the only way you could reject her was to hex her so she would land in the hospital wing. And that wouldn't necessarily work either).

Draco combed his hair down a bit, and sighed. The mirror sighed too.

"What's the matter, dear?" it asked, in its sleepy voice. 

"Shut up," Draco snapped at the mirror, and left the bathroom as quickly as he could. The mirror felt rather miffed, and vowed to make Draco look a little chubbier next time he looked in it.

Draco left the dorm rooms and went to the potions classroom. He leaned against the wall, looking bored, waiting for Severus to arrive so they could start the lesson. 

When Harry arrived Draco wanted to ask, to be nice, to go to the Yule Ball with him, but instead, when he opened his mouth a bunch of rubbish spouted out, hateful words, which made Draco hate himself so much.

 

The Great Hall was decorated festively. Students were donned in a colourful variety of dress robes making everything seem very bright, and danced to the Weird Sisters. Pansy Parkinson clung to his arm, her perfume overpowering, making Draco wrinkle his nose slightly.

He wondered who Harry was taking to the Ball. He couldn't have had any problems getting a date, any witch in this goddamn school would be happy to have him. And quite a few wizards too.

His jaw dropped when he saw Potter. Bright green dress robes, matching his eyes perfectly, his hair still out of control, his cheeks slightly flushed at all the attention he was given. 

His open mouth turned into a wide grin as he saw the mouldy rag Weasley was wearing. He suppressed a laugh.

Harry sat down with his date, one of the Patil twins (who looked nothing alike) and Draco looked away before anyone could see him staring.

Harry didn't look too happy, though. Behind the fake grin he looked sad. Draco wished Harry would look at him and smile and be happy.


	3. Chapter 3

Diggory was dead. He was lying on the ground, and Harry Potter was holding Diggory tight in his arms, not wanting to let go, saying his name over and over and over.

"Cedric, Cedric, Cedric," he moaned, in anguish.

Harry's beautiful angels face was blank with pain, his green eyes seemed dull, and he looked like he wished he was dead instead.

 

He was sixteen years, eleven months, five days, twenty three hours and sixteen minutes old and he wanted to die.

The boy he loved was still mourning over his two-years dead boyfriend. It was almost two years and he still hadn't dated anyone. He wanted to die as well.

Draco wished Harry would stop thinking about Cedric, that he would at least look at Draco, that the Dark Lord hadn't done this to Harry.

But, as his mother used to say, "if wishes were horses then beggars would ride". 

Draco stared at himself in the mirror. More mirrors. Draco had a strange fascination with mirrors, they showed what was there, but the opposite of what was actually there. The second floor girl's bathroom was, as usual, deserted. No one wanted to use it, what with Moaning Myrtle haunting it. 

Myrtle was nice, though. She listened to him. She didn't care that he cried. She didn't tell anyone. 

"What's wrong this time?" she asked, floating out of the tap.

"I messed up," he said.

"Ooh, what did you do this time?"

"He wants me to kill Dumbledore," he said.

Myrtle raised her eyebrows and let out a huge sigh.

"You're in it deep, Draco," she said.

"I don't know what to do! This is even worse than when I messed up big time last year," he was referring to the time he ratted out Dumbledore's Army to Umbridge. He couldn't look at Harry for months after that without feeling a twinge of shame. 

Myrtle nodded. "You're screwed."

"He'll never love me," Draco said, his throat constricting. 

"He really won't," Myrtle sighed. Draco shuddered, choking down a sob.

"I hate myself."

"We all do," Myrtle said.

"You're not helping!" 

"I'm not here to help. I'm supposed to make you miserable."

"I already am, you dead bitch!"

"Well, excuse me!" Myrtle snapped. "I don't have to take this from a Death Eater like you!"

She whirled in a tornado shaped cone down the drain of the sink.

Draco choked, as if her words had stolen his breath away and he was left gasping. 

A tear forced its way through his half closed eyelids and rolled down his cheek. Another followed in close progression, and plopped down onto the sink with a tiny plink. 

He wanted to die. 

He tried to stop crying, it was weak, but he couldn't. The tears wouldn't stop. He held onto the sink with both hands on each side of the basin. 

Death Eater. His father was so proud. Proud of his beautiful pure blood son, who had to bear him heirs, to make sure the Malfoy bloodline continued.

Too bad his pure blood son was queer. For his enemy.

There were footsteps behind him.

"Malfoy?" It was Harry. 

Draco whirled around, trying to wipe his eyes so Harry couldn't see.

He was suddenly furious. Goddamn Harry Potter, the boy who fucking lived and would save the day, and the boy he loved but was supposed to hate, who hated him.

No no no no no.

Draco regretted it. He really, really did. 

"Crucio!"

"Sectumsempra!"

Blood, pain, and tears.

This was not right. This was terrible. All Draco remembered was blood, deep cuts, bleeding gashes in his skin, over his chest, Severus bringing him to the hospital wing, and the deepest pain of all, in his head. Madam Pomfrey couldn't heal that kind of pain. 

Physically he recovered, but there were still the scars all over his chest and arms, and scars on his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

It was in the manor at Easter, when Harry Potter was caught by the Death Eaters and was trying to rescue his friends, and he took Draco's wand.

He just... won it. And that was it.

He didn't say anything else, didn't do anything else. He just took the wand, rescued his friends, and apparated away, with their old house elf, Dobby.

He managed to get his friends out, all of them, and they were barely harmed. Apart from Granger, who had his "lovely" Aunt Bellatrix torture her.

The Dark Lord was not happy when he found out they'd escaped.

He crucio'd Lucius Malfoy, and wanted to crucio Draco, but Narcissa saved him by convincing him it wasn't Draco's fault. Even though it was. Draco would never have done anything that harmed Harry in any way.

Or at least not on purpose. That was never Draco's intention. But then again, things never worked out the way he wanted them to.

 

Draco clung on to Harry, clutching his waist, and resisted the urge to lean his head against Harry's broad shoulders, in that vulnerable spot between his shoulder blades.

The fire below them engulfed Crabbe. Draco could still hear his screams.

It was his fault again. His goddamn fault. Because of him someone was dead. His best friend, to be exact. Alright, Crabbe was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was counting on Draco to save him from the Greek fire he himself had made. 

They flew out of the Room of Requirement and landed. Draco dreaded letting go of Harry, but knew he had to.

"C-Crabbe,' Draco stuttered, shuddering. The state his body would be in-

No, don't think of that. Just don't. Save that for the nightmares.

Potter just ignored him and went to check on his friends. 

Goyle stood nearby, looking shell-shocked. Draco knew how much Gregory had liked Vincent. They'd grown up together, were like brothers.

Draco fucking Malfoy was to blame. Again. If he hadn't influenced them from the first day on, made them his faithful followers, relying on him to make it all better, who knows what would have happened.

He sighed, and squared his shoulders. He still had to look presentable. He couldn't just break down in front of everyone.

 

Narcissa had saved Harry. Somehow she knew that Draco needed Harry like he needed air to breathe.

Harry was still alive and well.

Maybe not so well, though. His friends, the people he saw as family, so many dead. Draco's loss seemed minimal compared to all these deaths. So much pain.

It was over, though. Harry killed Lord Voldemort (Draco didn't dare say his name out loud, though) and all was good.

Except that Draco found Harry standing at the edge of the Viaduct, half of it blown to smithereens, trampled by giants and massive spiders and blasted by spells.

He was so close to the edge, standing there, about to take a step-

"Stop!" Draco cried out.

Harry looked over his shoulder at him.

Draco ran over to him. "Don't you dare jump!"

"Why not?" Harry asked, dully. "The world doesn't need me anymore."

"Don't make everything about you," Draco sneered. "Other people need you."

"Like who? My friends probably all hate me. Because of me so many are dead."

"I don't hate you," Draco said.

Harry blinked, genuinely surprised. "You make a pretty good impression of it."

"Look, just step away from the edge."

"Why?" Harry asked, inching closer.

Closer, just half a foot away from the edge...

Draco roughly pulled him away from the edge.

"I need you, you selfish bastard, believe it or not. And I'm not the only one. Now if you're going to kill yourself I'm going to have to follow right after you because I can't live without you, and that would be such a waste of seventeen years and exceptionally good breeding. Also, my mother would have a nervous breakdown and I don't want that to happen, do I make myself clear?" 

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"You... what?!"

"You heard me, Potter."

"I heard you, but I don't quite..."

"I love you. I don't want you to die. I need you. I don't even care if you hate me anymore, because all I want is for you to be alive and well, even if that means you marry the Weaselette."

"I don't want Ginny," Harry snorted, almost derisively. 

"Will you give me a second chance?" Draco asked, hesitantly. 

"No," Harry said, but slipped his hand in Draco's, who leaned his head against Harry's shoulder.

"Harry," Draco said, a few minutes later.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"Can you call me Draco?"

"Yes, Draco," Harry said.

"I am so, so sorry."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."


End file.
